How I Smuggled Smack into Tihar

True Crime

How I Smuggled Smack into Tihar

Illustration: Gaurav Basu

W

ithin 24 hours of my arrest, I was to be presented to the sessions judge at Patiala House for my judicial remand. I arrived at Patiala House at 2 pm. As I got off the van, I saw Hema. She was standing at the edge of the car park, looking frantically around the busy courthouse as if unsure where I’d emerge from. The shock of seeing her familiar face in a sea of black-coated lawyers and khakee-clad policemen was so intense that it took me a while to make sense of her presence.

She’d obviously been waiting a while. Her face was flushed under the blaze of the direct winter sun; a small pile of crushed cigarettes was scattered around her feet. Acknowledging the solemnity of the occasion, she was wearing respectable clothes – jeans and a buttoned-up cotton shirt. I vaguely recognised the man standing with her.

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